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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23366578">break it down to this next breath</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/be_the_good_guys/pseuds/be_the_good_guys'>be_the_good_guys</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Amputee Eddie Kaspbrak, Bisexual Beverly Marsh, Character Death, F/F, F/M, Good Parents Maggie &amp; Wentworth Tozier, M/M, Time Skips</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 11:48:50</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,740</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23366578</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/be_the_good_guys/pseuds/be_the_good_guys</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“We can’t just leave them-"</p><p>“Look at them Richie, they’re dead! They’re dead!” She feels guilty for raising her voice, but she wants to keep screaming. She wants to scream and cry and tear the cistern apart pebble by pebble. Bill, Ben, Mike, Stan, all gone. All fucking gone.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Beverly Marsh &amp; Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak &amp; Beverly Marsh, Eddie Kaspbrak &amp; Beverly Marsh &amp; Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>30</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>break it down to this next breath</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Their bodies lay scattered everywhere.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She stands staring at the well the clown descended into. She can’t bring herself to turn around. The cistern is so silent, her trembling breaths seem to echo.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>They’re all dead.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Stan was Its first kill of the night. He fell so quickly, so quietly. Its needle-like claw shot in and out of his exposed neck with no fuss. It took the sound of Stan choking on his own blood for the others to finally turn around and realize something had happened. He only suffered in Bill’s arms for a few seconds before he was gone, like a candle being snuffed out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After that, all hell broke loose. Beverly saw red. She heard screaming and saw limbs and makeshift weapons flying from every direction, and flashes of monsters: the clown, a mummy, a leper, her father… </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then she saw Ben on the floor, blood pooling beneath his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She doesn’t remember much of the bloodbath that ensued. Mike slammed into her, pushing her out of the way, before he was on the floor too. Its jaws clamped down on Eddie. Bill stopped fighting, his eyes locked on hers, mouthing </span>
  <em>
    <span>“I’m sorry”</span>
  </em>
  <span>. She blinked and he was on the ground, his neck twisted at an unnatural angle.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>They’re all dead.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She can’t move. If she turns away from the well, she’ll see all six of their mangled bodies and it will be real.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It can’t be real. She’s still in the Deadlights. Wake up, wake up, wake up.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>But she doesn’t wake.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bev.” The voice that comes from behind her is more of a gasp than a word. She thinks she imagines it at first, but then she hears it again. “Bev.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She whips around and freezes again when she sees the bodies of her friends, and the figure standing in the center, alive and unharmed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She runs to Richie without thinking, throwing her arms around him and dragging them both to their knees. They’re both shaking, but she just holds him, afraid of what will happen if she lets go.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re alive,” she chokes out, over and over again. “Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Someone’s coughing, and it’s not Richie.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eddie.” Richie slips out of Beverly’s grip, crawling past her. “Bev, Eddie!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie’s sitting up against a rock. His arm is gone. But he’s coughing, which means he’s still breathing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie reaches him, splashing through the layer of bloody water on the ground. Eddie’s eyes are half-closed and unfocused, his head tipped back against the rock. Richie touches Eddie’s face. “Eddie, Eddie, look at me.” Beverly is overwhelmed with sudden deja vu.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She stands, stumbling to the boys and crashing to her knees on Eddie’s other side. Eddie isn’t responding to Richie’s pleas. His skin is grey and cool to the touch when she takes his one hand. Richie doesn’t seem to notice. He continues holding Eddie’s face, begging him to wake up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Beverly’s chest constricts. She inhales, but when she exhales, a sob escapes her throat. She breathes again, and hears herself say, “Richie. He’s… I think he’s-“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie’s fingers twitch in her grip. She looks down, and sees them curling around hers. She blinks, and presses two fingers to Eddie’s throat, holding her breath-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She looks at Richie, incredulous and a tad hysterical. “He’s alive.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie drops his hands from Eddie’s face and pulls off his overshirt, bunching it up and pressing it to the bloody stump attached to Eddie’s shoulder. “You’re b-bleeding too much, Eds…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s right. The puddle they’re kneeling could have been more blood than greywater. Richie’s shirt was already beginning to soak through, they had to find a way to stop the bleeding completely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We have to make a tourniquet,” she says. “Like… like Stan showed us in the clubhouse, remember?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She stands, her legs wobbling like a newborn deer, and goes to Stan’s body. She tries not to look at his shredded throat while she hastily undoes the belt around his waist. When she holds the belt in her hands, she looks up at Stan’s face. His eyes are closed, and somehow none of the blood that stains everything below his neck ended up on his face. He could have been sleeping. She brushes some curls back from his forehead and leans down to kiss it, whispering, “Thank you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She returns to Richie and Eddie, the former having pulled Eddie into his lap. Dying and missing a limb, Eddie looks impossibly small in Richie’s arms.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She loops her belt around Eddie’s stump and pulls it as tight as she can. Eddie stirs with a pained noise, his eyelids fluttering.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie’s magnified eyes widen. “You’re hurting him…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This will stop the bleeding,” Beverly fastens the belt. Eddie settles against Richie’s shoulder, eyes closed and features going slack. Keeping him conscious was hopeless, but the tiny, uneven wheezes audible from his prone form reinforce her determination. “We need to get him out of here. Now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Somehow, they maneuver Eddie onto Richie’s back. It’s definitely not ideal, but they’re lucky Eddie’s the smallest of the group or it may not have been possible to carry him at all. The bleeding stopped, but Eddie’s already lost too much blood to make it much longer. Still, once Eddie’s situated, neither of them move.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bevvie.” Richie’s voice is strange and distant. He’s whiter than a sheet and swaying, like he’s about to pass out, but Beverly knows he won’t drop Eddie. “We have to help the others, we can’t just leave them here-“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We can’t help them,” Beverly whispers. Her voice echoes around the cistern. “They’re dead.” She’s numb, detached from her body. She’s almost relieved she can’t feel anything; if she did, it might be impossible to tear herself away. She would let Richie go on with Eddie and lie down beside the bodies and sleep endlessly until she was gone, too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We can’t just leave them-“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look at them Richie, they’re dead! </span>
  <em>
    <span>They’re dead!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” She feels guilty for raising her voice, but she wants to keep screaming. She wants to scream and cry and tear the cistern apart pebble by pebble. Bill, Ben, Mike, Stan, all gone. All </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucking </span>
  </em>
  <span>gone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh.” Richie swallows, staring at Bill's body. He has a death grip on Eddie’s legs that’s sure to leave bruises if Eddie has any blood left in him. Beverly goes and holds Richie’s face in her hands like he held Eddie’s a minute ago. His eyes lock on hers, as far-away as his voice sounded. His breathing is off, like he suddenly has asthma.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Breathe with me,” she instructs, like Stan taught her once. She takes exaggerated breaths until his somewhat-match up. “Now listen. We’re getting out of here. We’re getting Eddie help. He’s the only one we can save but we need to move fast or he’s going to die too. Are you okay to carry him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie’s lips part. He nods, and she drops her hands. They walk side-by-side to the cave opening. Richie dry-sobs when they have to walk around Mike.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t look at them,” Beverly says, keeping her voice steady. “I’m going to lead us out of here. Just keep looking at me, okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She refuses to think about what they’re leaving behind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They ascend from the sewers in silence, neither wanting to believe the impossible truth:</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The previous evening, seven thirteen-year-olds walked into the house on Neibolt street.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And at three AM the next day, only three come out that same front door, into a new day and a new life.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After doctors at the hospital wheel Eddie away a nurse tells Richie and Beverly to clean up in the restroom while they contact their parents and the police. Beverly dimly thinks of her father bleeding on the bathroom floor but the thought fades to the back of her mind. Richie follows Beverly into the women’s room, which she’s grateful for because she isn’t going to let him out of her sight, not fully trusting that It is gone. For all they knew the clown could be down the pipes of one of the sinks, waiting to finish them off. She imagines blinking and Its deformed hand closing around Richie’s neck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie pushes past her in the doorway and stumbles into a stall, collapsing in front of a toilet and immediately throwing up. She’s surprised he made it this long, and sits with him in the cramped stall for a while, rubbing small circles into his back. They still don’t talk. She knows what’s been hitting him in small bits since the cistern has yet to fully hit her, but she’s in no rush. She needs to comfort Richie and see to Eddie’s recovery; only when she knows the two of them are okay, will she allow herself to mourn what they lost.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’re in the bathroom for nearly half an hour, scrubbing their skin raw with hospital soap and paper towels until only their clothes are stained with blood and who knows what else. It doesn’t help much, Beverly still wants to crawl out of her skin after feeling her friends’ warm blood spatter against it. She finds some solace in planning to burn this dress as soon as she gets the chance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They don’t speak, but when they leave the bathroom, she takes his hand and squeezes it. He squeezes back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’re taken into an office with a few police officers and nurses.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How’s Eddie?” Beverly asks before the authority figures can get her and Richie to sit down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your friend lost a lot of blood,” a doctor tells them. “He’ll need time to recover from that, nevermind the arm loss-“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But he’ll be okay?” Beverly cuts her off eagerly. She needs to hear the doctor say it. Richie remains silent, but she knows he does, too. They just need this one thing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The doctor smiles tiredly, and Beverly’s heart skips three beats. “Yes, he’ll make it. The open wound was infected so we had to amputate what was left of his arm and put him on antibiotics. He received a large blood transfusion, and he has a long recovery ahead of him with his arm, but it’s frankly a miracle he survived. He’s medicated and sleeping now. His mother is currently the only one allowed in, but you two will be able to see him as soon as his vitals level out and the fever from the infection dies down.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The wave of relief that crashes over Beverly rocks her to her core. They lost four, but saved one. Eddie was going to be okay. She looks over at Richie, and sees he removed his glasses. His eyes are squeezed shut while silent tears streak down his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A police officer furrows his brow. “Can you two describe what happened to Eddie?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Beverly’s throat goes dry while she fumbles for an answer. They’re so exhausted, why can’t these adults see that? She knows it’s selfish, but she doesn’t want to explain what happened to Eddie, because sooner or later they’ll have to tell them what happened to the other four kids too, and there were no words to describe that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bowers,” Richie murmurs. Beverly turns to look at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Henry Bowers?” The officer asks, his eyebrows shooting up. “Chief Bowers’ son?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Richie says. He’s still not wearing his glasses, his eyes unfocused on Beverly’s shoe. “He’s been doing the kidnappings. We followed him into the sewers when he kidnapped Bev and found all the bodies of the kids in a huge pile. Every kid on a missing poster is down there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaws drop throughout the room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Henry Bowers attempted to kidnap you?” The dumbfounded officer asks Beverly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Masking her shock, she replies, “Yes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you and Eddie Kaspbrak followed them?” The officer asks Richie.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie inhales before answering the question, and Beverly braces herself for impact.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was me, Eddie, Bill Denbrough, Stanley Uris, Ben Hanscom, and Mike Hanlon.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And where are those four boys?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie frowns at Beverly’s shoe like he’s uncertain, even though there’s only one right answer. “They’re dead. Bowers killed them right in front of us, and… he hacked off Eddie’s arm. He tried to kill us too, but we pushed him down a well.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The crying nurse runs out of the room in the horrible silence that follows. The officer questioning them set down his notepad, taking off his hat and shaking his head. Richie’s still staring at Beverly’s shoe like he’s not fully there. Beverly makes herself look out the window. A bird is hopping around on the tree outside, fluttering from branch to branch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It matches up,” one officer murmurs to another. “Kid murders his dad, runs off to kidnap a girl, massacres a bunch of kids who get in his way…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Beverly wants to clamp her hands over her ears. Richie’s fingernails are digging into her hand, but she can hardly feel anything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The officers don’t question them for much longer. They ask for a bunch of times and locations, but Richie’s story must match up pretty perfectly because an officer leaves the room to order an arrest on Henry Bowers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The nurses lead them down the hall into a separate office, insisting they both receive checkups. They try to separate them into different rooms but Beverly makes it clear that’s not happening by wordlessly leading Richie into one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She releases Richie’s hand while the doctor pokes and prods him. Under the fluorescent lights, he looks even worse, his skin speckled with dried blood and blooming with bruises, still wearing that blank expression. He’s like a ghost of the boy who wanted to kill the fucking clown. Beverly doesn’t need a mirror to tell her that she doesn’t look any better.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aside from a slight fever and symptoms of psychological shock, you’re relatively unharmed, young man.” The doctor says. Richie barely seems to hear her, hopping down from the table and going to switch with Beverly. The doctor stops him. “I know you two aren’t crazy about being separated right now, but I need a word alone with Beverly. Richie, your family’s in the waiting room right outside if you’d like to join them?” The doctor’s tone implies it’s not a question.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie opens his mouth, but Beverly nods. “It’s okay. Go see your family, Richie.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alone with the doctor, Beverly suddenly feels exposed, her stomach twisting with anxiety. She doesn’t let it show on her face. “Psychological shock?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The doctor jots down notes on a clipboard. “Acute stress disorder. It’s common after a traumatic event, and since the both of you went through hell and back, I’m sure you’re suffering as well.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Beverly scans her nametag. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Bailey Gallagher, pediatrician</span>
  </em>
  <span>. She’s young for a doctor, brunette hair cropped at her ears and kind eyes. She goes through the same routine with Beverly as with Richie, taking her temperature, patching up the nastier scrapes and checking for broken bones. Dr. Gallagher removes her stethoscope. “You three are strong kids. You’ll have each other’s backs.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why did you want to see me alone?” She asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The doctor sits down across from Beverly on a stool.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re Alvin Marsh’s daughter, correct?” The question catches Beverly off guard. Her reply is reduced to a whisper.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you know your father is currently residing in this hospital for trauma from blunt force to his skull?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Beverly flexes her fingers, reliving the vibrations that reverberated through them when the porcelain toilet seat made contact with her father’s head. “He’s not dead?” Beverly can’t bring herself to watch her words. She’s so fucking tired of fear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He is not,” Dr. Gallagher replies. “In fact, he’ll recover within days. Beverly,” her tone softens. “Did you attack your father?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The dam Beverly built around everything she concealed crumbles and explodes. The lump in her throat obstructs her airways, and she manages to suck in a single trembling breath before the truth bursts out of her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He attacked me,” she confesses, sobbing between words. “He’s been… hurting me my whole life. He touches me, he touches my… my </span>
  <em>
    <span>hair</span>
  </em>
  <span>, when I was eleven he made me… made me…” the word is on the tip of her tongue but it’s too much. She grips her short curls so tightly it hurts, sick of not feeling anything, sick of being afraid of herself because of what he did to her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sweetheart,” Dr. Gallagher stands, eyes filled with more sympathy than Beverly has ever received from an adult figure. “Can I hug you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Beverly nods, tenseing at first when the doctor puts her arms around her but slowly relaxing into the hold.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wanted to talk to you before the police,” she explains. “I saw the bruises on your thighs and ankles. Is that why you knocked him out?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Beverly nods, her head drooping when the doctor pulls back, utterly drained. She wipes her eyes, doing little to stem the flow of tears. “Will I…” she sniffles. “Will I have to go back to him when he gets better?” </span>
  <em>
    <span>I would rather go to juvie.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” the doctor says firmly. “Beverly, what you did was out of self defense. The police already have more than enough evidence of abuse. Your father is going away for a long time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Beverly can’t comprehend what that means just yet. She wants her friends. She wants Bill and Ben and Stan and Mike and Richie and Eddie, but only two of those are possible. </span>
  <em>
    <span>They’re your family now.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s going to happen?” She croaks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ll meet with the police and a social worker, and they’ll arrange who you’ll live with.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Beverly’s head feels stuffed with cotton. The doctor holds her clipboard to her chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you need anything at all, know there are adults who you can trust. You’re not alone, Beverly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Beverly meets Dr. Gallagher’s sincere eyes and wishes she could believe her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Beverly’s brain switches off in the backseat of the Toziers’ car.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Beverly’s never met Richie’s family, but the second she stepped foot into the waiting room she was wrapped up in Maggie’s arms. She’d never felt a mother’s embrace before; it shocked her how different it felt from the hug Dr. Gallagher had given her moments earlier. This hug was like being cocooned in a warm blanket, and she surprised herself by not letting go too soon and allowing Maggie to hold her until her heart stopped racing from her previous encounter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At the house Richie’s older sister finds Beverly towels and shows her where the bathroom is. Lydia Tozier has shoulder length black curls and brown eyes like Richie’s, though they’re not magnified behind glasses. She squeezed the life out of her little brother in the waiting room and hadn’t let go the whole drive home.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Feel free to use my shower stuff while you’re in there,” Lydia tells her, handing over the towels and a set of pajamas. “Also, dad got you a toothbrush at the hospital gift shop.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He didn’t have to do that.” Beverly’s cheeks grow warm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lydia quirks an eyebrow, her cherry-red lips forming a gentle smile. “It’s nothing, kid. Mom wanted me to let you know she’s making breakfast, but if you wanna sleep my bed is yours to crash in.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Beverly thanks her. Lydia studies her for a moment, and opens her mouth like she wants to say something else, but quickly snaps it shut again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Beverly takes the quickest shower possible. Being in the bathroom alone sets her nerves on edge. She imagines she hears laughter bubbling up from the drain, and drops her toothbrush into the sink with her shaking hand, sinking to her knees and gripping her wet hair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut up,” she whispers. “Shut up, shut up shut </span>
  <em>
    <span>up.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She rests her forehead against the cool porcelain of the bathtub and closes her eyes but she only sees their faces. Stan, blood spewing from his mouth, clinging to the front of Bill’s shirt. Mike pulls her up from the ground and asks if she’s okay and gets skewered through the chest. The haunting resolution in Bill’s expression when he stopped fighting. And Ben, who kissed her out of the deadlights, (</span>
  <em>
    <span>my heart burns there too), </span>
  </em>
  <span>his wide eyes glossing over and reflecting the cistern ceiling. The bathroom swirls around her. Laughter melts into screams… </span>
</p><p><span>“</span><em><span>Shut</span></em> <em><span>up</span></em><span>!”</span></p><p>
  <span>There’s a knock on the bathroom door. “Bev?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her throat squeaks when she tries to reply. Richie opens the door, shielding his eyes with his hand. “You decent?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When she doesn’t respond, Richie slowly lifts his hand. When he sees Beverly’s wearing Lydia’s t-shirt and shorts he lets it drop all the way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Beverly drags her gaze up to meet his. His wet bangs are plastered to his forehead, and he looks a little better now that he’s clean, but the shadows under his eyes and the uncharacteristic inward-curve of his shoulders remain. He stands there with a white-knuckled grip on the doorknob. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I hear them too,” he swallows. “I don’t… I don’t think they’re really there this time, because we got rid of It, but it’s like It stuck with us, or something. I don’t-“ his voice cracks. “How do we make it stop?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Beverly’s lip trembles. He sinks down next to her, and they lean into each other’s hold. Her head rests on his shoulder and his face is wet and turned into the crook of her neck. He’s right; It’s not the one making them hear things or filling them with dread. They’re wallowing in the aftermath of what they can’t unsee, unable to process the enormity of their loss, standing on the tip of an iceberg.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t think we can.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bev, I’m really scared.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Me too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They lean back against the bathtub together, and when Beverly’s eyes fall closed, they don’t reopen.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lydia drops Beverly and Richie back off at the hospital in the afternoon so they can visit Eddie. They woke up still-tangled together on the bathroom floor around three pm to find that somebody had covered them with a blanket. Lydia told them without elaborating that Maggie and Went had gone down to the Uris’s. She must’ve also seen the look on their faces when she mentioned Stan’s parents, because she immediately insisted on driving them to the hospital.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Rich,” Lydia shoves a container into her brother’s arms before he gets out of the car. “Sneak these to Little Eds for me, will you? They’re cookies, there’s a get-well card in there too, just don’t let Mrs. K confiscate them or pull any of her usual shit.” She grins at her brother, whose lips merely twitch in response. Her smile dims.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks, Lyds.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The track down Eddie’s room. A nurse tells them he’s woken up a few times already but not to be shocked if he isn’t lucid, since he’s on a lot of pain meds and coming down from a fever. She also tells them Eddie’s mom is out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where’d she go?” Richie asks, not masking his surprise. It’s the first emotion Beverly had seen him  wear in the past hour. She’ll admit she's stunned as well; she imagined Mrs. K would have an iron-grip on Eddie for the rest of his life after this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not sure, but she’s been gone for a few hours,” the nurse replies.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Hours</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Richie parrots, his eyes nearly popping out of his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t worry, he’s in good hands. Here we are,” the nurse stops in front of room 127, letting them in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The room is small, weak light filtering through the drawn blinds.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie’s asleep in the hospital bed. There are tubes disappearing into the empty right-sleeve of his hospital gown and an IV in his remaining hand. His sickly pallor hasn’t improved much, though his cheeks have taken on the flush of fever. When they brought him in he’d been barely breathing and now Beverly can see his chest evenly rising and falling with every breath he takes. He doesn’t necessarily look </span>
  <em>
    <span>better</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but he looks alive, and Beverly feels a real smile tugging on her lips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She walks around the side of the bed and takes Eddie’s hand. His fingers curl around hers like they had in the sewers when he was dying.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie remains by the door, looking like he might be sick again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Beverly nods him over, and he slowly crosses the room to stand beside her. She takes his hand and holds it to her and Eddie’s joined ones.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He looks better, doesn’t he?” She slips her hand out so Richie can hold Eddie’s properly. He intertwines their fingers, and some of the tension leaves his shoulders.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Beverly drags chairs over and they sit at Eddie’s bedside while they wait for him to wake up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s the first time Beverly’s felt in her body since the fight and not floating. Her heart rate is back to normal. Here, in this cramped hospital room, with its beeping monitors and steril air and Richie and Eddie alive at her side, she can forget the outside world exists.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My dad’s going to prison,” she whispers. “He abused me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie glances at her, eyes wide. “Shit, I had no idea.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I never told anyone because I was scared of what would happen,” she says. “The clown knew. It used my dad to taunt me, like It used Georgie against Bill.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where will you live?” He asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She shrugs. “The only family I have is my aunt in Ohio, and she might not even want me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can live with us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s too much to ask…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, really. My parents can adopt you, they’ve always wanted another girl.” He almost sounds desperate. “You can’t go to Ohio, Bev. You can’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not.” She turns to face him. “No matter what happens, I’m staying here with you and Eddie. It’s the three of us from now on, alright? Nothing can change that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nods. His gaze falls back to Eddie’s face. “I’m sorry. About what your dad did. He sounds like a real asshole.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He is. But I think I’m going to be okay now.” She means it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They sit in silence for another few minutes before Richie takes a deep breath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The clown knew things about me too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She looks at him. His eyes are locked on the edge of the bed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think I like boys… the way I’m supposed to like girls. I think I’m… I’m… you know...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” she says. He looks up and sees her smiling softly. “Thank you for telling me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re not mad?” He asks. Her heart breaks all over again at how genuinely surprised he sounds.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course not, dummy.” She nudges his foot with hers. “Nothing’s changed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His smile finally reaches his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did we get It?” A voice croaks, and both of their gazes whip to the bed to see Eddie awake. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eddie,” Beverly exhales, turning her grin to him. “Hey.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi.” Eddie tugs on Richie’s hand. “Hi.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Eds.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Either he’s too out-of-it to correct him, or Eddie lets Richie get away with the nickname for once.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How’re you feeling?” Beverly asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mmph. Not…” Eddie sighs, closing his eyes. “Not good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Does it hurt?” Richie asks, seeming nervous. “Your… where your arm was?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie opens his eyes and glances down at his right side like he forgot, hardly seeming to register the empty space. His eyes fall closed again. “Can’t feel anything there. Feels funny…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m glad you’re okay, Spaghetti.” Richie’s voice is tight. Eddie doesn’t seem to notice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“M’glad you guys are okay… too…” he slurs. “Where’re… where’re the other losers?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Beverly’s heart drops into the pit of her stomach. The haze she’s been under where she and Richie overcame their fears and pretended everything would be okay disperses and reveals reality; they’re sitting in a cold hospital room with their hurt friend while four of their other friends rot in a sewer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie’s crying silently, looking away from the bed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Beverly begins stroking Eddie’s hair with a trembling hand, her vision blurring with tears. “Go back to sleep, Eddie.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s out again within seconds.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The room is silent.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When they come back the next morning, Eddie is already awake and much more alert. After the two of them walk in he continues staring at the door, holding his breath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They both know who he’s waiting for.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When no one else comes through the door and he sees their expressions he starts shaking his head. The heart monitor beeps rapidly. “No. No.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They move towards the bed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eddie,” Beverly whimpers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. Not all of them. No. No.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie tries touching Eddie’s hand but the boy jerks away as though burned. “Don’t fucking touch me!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie recoils, wounded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are they still down there?” Eddie’s voice cracks. “Did you- did you leave them in that place?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There was nothing we could do for them, Eddie.” Guilt seizes Beverly’s heart. “You were dying, we had to get you help.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie’s hand grips the sheets. “Is it… is It gone?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It won’t be back for a long time.” Beverly blinks away tears. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie doesn’t resist when she lies down beside him on the bed, nor after she beckons Richie to do the same on the other side. Eddie cries between them and all they can do is hold him until the shuddering subsides. They fall asleep like that, Richie and Beverly on their sides facing inwards with their arms crossed over Eddie.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A picture is taken of the three of them sleeping and sent in to the Derry Press; it’s featured on the front page the following morning.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The following month passes in a blur.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Beverly was right; her Aunt would rather not take her unless she has nowhere else to go, which she does, because Richie was right too- a week after the sewers, his parents sit Beverly down and say they want to adopt her if she’d let them. She’s overwhelmed and they warn her it could be a complicated process but she says yes. Of course she says yes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even more shocking, Eddie has nowhere to go either. His mother jumped ship after he got released from the hospital because he still wouldn’t talk to her as a result of their fight before the sewers. She all but kicked him out, going on pretending like she doesn’t have a son at all. Eddie spends most of his time with Richie and Beverly at the Toziers’. Richie’s parents want to call her in for neglect, but he politely asks them not to. He’s glad not to have her controlling his life anymore. He’s exhausted and in pain most of the time, dealing with Sonia on top of his arm would have driven him off the deep end.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The bodies are removed from the sewers. Bill and Georgie are buried together. Beverly sees Mr. and Mrs. Denbrough at the funeral. After losing both of their sons, the pain in their eyes is indescribable. Beverly crawls into bed after the funeral and spends the rest of the day there. Maggie comes in and tells her that the Denbroughs moved out of Derry the next morning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mike’s grandfather buries him with his parents. His funeral is reserved for family, but when Beverly, Richie and Eddie visit Mike’s grave his grandfather invites them back to the farm for dinner. His grandfather tells them that he regrets being so harsh towards Mike. They tell him how strong Mike was in the sewers; it’s hard to talk about the fight, but the pride that shines in Mike’s grandfather’s eyes is worth it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stan’s memorial takes place in the same Jewish temple he was Bar Mitzvahed in a month prior. Richie was the only one to attend Stan’s Bar Mitzvah and when they get to the temple he breaks down before they even make it inside. The three of them end up sitting outside the temple instead, listening to the memorial happening indoors and watching birds build a nest in a tree. It’s peaceful; Stan would have liked it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben’s funeral is the last. Beverly goes up to his mother afterwards to offer her condolences. Mrs. Hanscom hugs her tightly and thanks her for being a friend to her son.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She, Eddie and Richie go to the clubhouse Ben built after. Richie and Eddie climb into the hammock while Beverly scales the structure, admiring every inch, misshapen nail and tilted post that Ben worked on all by himself because he treasured his friends.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He would have been an amazing architect,” she murmurs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie’s drifting off with his head on Richie’s shoulder, extreme fatigue another side effect of limb loss he’s been dealing with. Richie doesn’t seem to mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ben was in love with you, you know?” The sensitive comment is strange coming from Richie; she looks up, half-expecting to be met with Richie’s lopsided grin, but he hasn’t joked since the sewers and he would never kid about that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How do you know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We talked about it once,” he says. “He would’ve done anything for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Beverly reaches her hand into her pocket, feeling the postcard that she kept with her during the funeral. She reads the poem in Ben’s handwriting again despite having it memorized. The next day, she leaves a note on Ben’s grave with her response.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Woken with a kiss</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’ll remember your kind eyes</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>And leave you my heart.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The first day of school rolls around and they meet at Eddie’s in the morning to walk together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They knock (Sonia keeps the door double-locked) and Eddie let’s them in, leading them to his room. They walk past Sonia in her recliner, and she regards all three of them with vague disgust before resuming polishing her nails.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie closes the door to his room behind them as Richie flops on the bed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie’s room is messier than she remembers from the one time she was in it before the sewers, like a normal teenage boy’s room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s changed. Cutting his mother out of his life in all ways sans physically has led him to be more confident in himself. The pill bottles that once lined his nightstand were reduced to the one pain medication he takes occasionally. He still worries after Richie and Beverly, but he doesn’t ramble on infections and diseases like he used to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie told Eddie that he’s gay not long after telling Beverly. Eddie was caught off-guard at first, but that only lasted for a day or two before he was treating it like no big deal. They didn’t discuss Richie’s preference for boys much, but there’s been a clear weight off his shoulders since coming out. He even rounded up the courage to tell his family, who only showed him love and support. They all fared a little better without his overcompensating with sex jokes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Beverly Marsh officially has a family. Maggie’s surely the most caring woman on the planet. Beverly finds herself looking up to her new mother’s collected fierceness, and Went’s gaze doesn’t linger like her father’s had. Lydia’s the first female friend Beverly ever had, and was happy to share her room, since she left for college at the end of the summer anyway. Beverly still leaves Lydia’s side and possessions untouched out of respect. And of course, Beverly has her boys. They’ve spent every day since Eddie was released from the hospital together, learning how to navigate their new worlds.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Things have changed for the better, but pain demands to be felt. They have a lot of bad days. Days where Beverly wakes up screaming into her pillow. Days where they have to go over to Eddie’s because he’s too depressed to get out of bed. Days where every sudden movement or shadow feels like a threat. Richie picks fights with anyone who looks at Eddie or Beverly the wrong way and it often ends with him receiving a black eye or bloody nose. They visit their friends' graves every weekend and tell the headstones about their weeks or the funny movie at the Aladdin. School’s going to be hell.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie’s struggling to put on a jacket. Beverly and Richie both pretend not to notice since he gets snappy when they offer to help him with things, even though him needing help is inevitable since he’s down one arm. It’s been hard on him; the shadows under his eyes never really went away and he’s lost weight. The notebook open on his desk is page after page of clumsy letters while he’s training himself to write with his non-dominant hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He finally shrugs the jacket on, only for it to slip off his right shoulder with no arm to fill the sleeve. Frustration springs to Eddie’s eyes, biting down hard on his lip.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie hands Beverly the box of pins on Eddie’s desk and she quietly pins the right side of Eddie’s jacket to his collar so it will stay, and ties the sleeve into a knot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie’s still glaring at himself in the mirror when she’s finished. “Can’t we just skip today?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We gotta go back sometime,” Beverly says, making eye contact with him in the mirror. Richie’s flipping through one of Eddie’s comic books on the bed behind them, but Beverly can tell when he’s actually reading versus lost in thought. He’s been doing the latter a lot, lately. She supposes she has too without realizing it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m a freak,” Eddie mutters. “I won’t even be able to open my locker by myself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re not a freak,” Beverly hands him his backpack and he slings it on. “You’re a loser.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That earns a tiny smile from Eddie. He turns to the bed. “Rich, you ready?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie hops up, snapping out of his trance. “Aye-aye, Captain Eduardo.” He does a clumsy salute and slings the arm around Eddie’s shoulders. Eddie laughs, rolling his eyes and shoving him off as they exit the room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Beverly lingers, her eyes caught on a photo strip peeking out of Eddie’s notebook. She carefully slides it out, curious if it’s what she thinks it is.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The complete loser's club smiles up at her from the photo. She smiles back, tracing her fingers over Bill, Stan Mike and Ben. “We’ll be okay,” she whispers to them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bev!” Richie shouts from outside. Sonia’s annoyed scoff is audible from the living room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She places the photo strip back in the notebook, and repeats once more to herself, “We’ll be okay.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Six Years Later</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Beverly’s eyes fly open, a scream caught in her throat, air frozen in her lungs. She sits up, immediately rolling over and vomiting onto the floor. She stands, stepping over the puddle and stumbling out of her room, swiping her mouth with the back of her hand as she enters the living room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She doesn’t bother to turn on the lights before crashing onto the pullout bed. “Wake up,” she chokes, gasping. “Wake up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She hears disgruntled noises and Richie fumbling around in the dark for the lamp switch, and a sleepy “Bev, what the hell-?” courtesy of Eddie.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie finally hits the fucking lights, temporarily blinding all three of them while their eyes struggle to adjust.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What time is it?” Eddie groans, his face buried in Richie’s shirt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie shoves on his glasses, eyes widening. “Bev, what’s wrong?” He asks, sitting up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie opens his eyes and instantly becomes alert. “Nightmare?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All three of them suffered from night terrors, but they hadn’t seen a reaction this bad in years.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s because Beverly didn’t have a nightmare. It felt like one. But what she saw was real.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She can hardly squeeze words out. “W-We have to go back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Go back where, Bev?” Richie asks, but Eddie already knows what she’s talking about.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You mean Derry.” They’d barely been living in New York for a year, while Eddie and Beverly attend NYU and Richie does comedy gigs and waits tables.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She nods.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Richie’s gaze travels from Eddie to Beverly to Eddie again. “Why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It,” she whispers. Richie pales. “It’s calling us h-home.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s awake?” Terror fills Eddie’s voice. “Mike- Mike said we had twenty-seven years-“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know how.” Beverly lets out a shuddering sob. “I don’t know… But I know what I saw.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What did you see, Bev?” Eddie asks like he doesn’t want to know the answer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I saw </span>
  <em>
    <span>them</span>
  </em>
  <span>. All four of them in the sewers, but they’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>our</span>
  </em>
  <span> age, which means this is happening now. Which means…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She sees it dawn on him.</span>
</p><p><span>“</span><em><span>Holy</span></em> <em><span>fucking shit</span></em><span>.”</span></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>part 2 is coming if y'all show me you want it!</p><p>thanks for reading, sorry for the angst. it hurt to write.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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